Death of the Goldsaddle

by **Rothyr Windbourne** on August 24th, 2012, 6:13 pm

Season of Winter, Day 90, AV 512

The day had come. His time amongst the Diamond clans was finished. His father, Elder Goldsaddle, ankal of the pavilion, had come to take him back to their camp. It would be time for him to set up his own pavilion, soon. He had gone to the Diamond clan to find a wife, and he found one. It was not an easy task, he had to prove himself to the Diamond clans that he was a worthwhile suitor, by learning to fight. He learned combat with the sword, and spear, initially, and how to fight from horseback.

Fighting with swords, he learned how to keep his footwork in check, how to block and parry, how to open up someone's defense and strike weak points, about veins and arteries that could bleed an opponent. With the spear, he learned much of the same things, how to get through defenses, blocking strikes, proper thrusts and cuts, how to set a spear against a charging foe without being trampled. They also taught him about fighting from horseback, how to use the added height and momentum to combat another rider or a dismounted opponent. In return, he was able to show them a thing or two about horse-archery, how to time your shots with your horse's running. There's a brief moment when none of the horses' hooves touch the ground, and that there is the most opportune time to shoot. At that moment, one is most balanced, and the horse and rider are steadiest. The horse's hooves pounding on the ground is enough to send a well aimed shot veering off course; the Emerald clans saw this, and utilized a method of horse-archery that became the envy of the Plains.

It was the lesson of horse-archery that won him over in the clans, and after showcasing his marksmanship a few times. Nothing spectacular, he was not an expert archer, but comparing the shot grouping before and after was enough to convince the Diamonds what he said held water. So the lessons were traded one for another, and both groups grew stronger for it.

As is typical with the Drykas, there were no shortage of females amongst the Diamond clan. Males do not live long, life on the plains being harsh and dangerous. Rothyr was a rare find, being the age of twent-four and unmarried. He took after his father, Elder Goldsaddle. The man was old, wise, strong, and well respected amongst all the clans. Elder Goldsaddle saw much, lived through much, and had many stories to tell for it, and all the stories he passed to his son, Rothyr, to make sure his son lived to see grandchildren as well. Elder Goldsaddle was growing older, and slower, and he knew it. Something he never would admit, he wanted to have grandchildren before he passed back into the web. So, he sent Rothyr to the Diamond clan to seek a wife. He chose the Diamonds because they were warriors, and Rothyr had the build to be one. He also knew Rothyr had no aptitude for magic, so the shoe fit, and he intended his son to wear it.

Rothyr spent the winter season amongst the Diamonds, learning and living with the warrior clans. Being a friendly soul, he made friends quickly. Sudir, among them, and other riders he rode in the battle-line with in training. Not to mention, being a fresh face, and charming, he did not have much trouble finding potential wives amongst the clans. Other warriors who had yet to find wives held much disdain with this, and there was more than one occasion in which Rothyr found that his tack or effects had been tampered with. Cut straps on his saddles, and Yvas, missing arrows or misplaced bows, missing weapons. Things tended to find their way to places he hadn't put them. He did not let it bother him so much. After all, he was a guest in their camp. He couldn't do much about it, without leaving a bad taste in his hosts' mouths. Unless he caught them in the act, but that didn't happen so much.

by **Rothyr Windbourne** on August 24th, 2012, 6:14 pm

It was halfway through the season when he met her. She was a lovely young woman, not much younger than he. Her voice was a gift of music to his ears when he first spoke to her. She was but a few inches shorter than he, with long black hair that was braided down her back. He skin was dark yet light, with freckles over the bridge of her nose, and on her shoulders. Her eyes were dark brown, and deeper than the darkest well. Her features exhumed youth, and her smile was bright as heaven's light. He knew she would be his wife, right away. She came in the night, and baited Rothyr like a hunter, and Rothyr bought it full price.

“You ride well, Windbourne,” She said to him, he was sitting with Sudir and some of his pavilion, Splintersong, in the commons area of the camp by the fire, when she first spoke to him, “I hear you beat Sudir in a race by some distance,” she jested at Sudir's expense, to which he was nudged by his laughing cousin, which Sudir dismissed with a wave of his hand, “I would like to see how well you handle in the saddle myself, care to ride with me?”

Rothyr couldn't say no. He couldn't say anything for how caught off guard he was, he nearly sprayed his drink at the man seated across from him, but settled for near-choking. He coughed, and nodded his head, rising up,

“Certainly!” he said, as they started off together, vaguely hearing the Splintersongs' catcalls, but he would've missed a wildfire if he walked straight into it at that point, “I would love to, call me Rothyr, by the way. It's a pleasure to meet you, miss...”

“Amora,” She said, “Amora Everstride, pleased to meet you Rothyr Windbourne.”

“Trust me, miss Everstride, the pleasure is all mine,” he said, enthusiastically,

“Tell me, Rothyr,” she said, “Is Windbourne your pavilion?”

“No, actually,” he replied, “I hail from the Goldsaddle pavilion, Windbourne is a nickname I won for the race with Sudir,”

“I see,” she said, “What brings you to the Diamond pavilions, then, Rothyr Goldsaddle? Come to best us in horseraces or something else, less audacious than beating a Diamond at something?

There was a sultry tone to her voice, as seductive as a mountain of gold. She had him eating out of the palm of her hand. It was slightly embarrassing, in retrospect. Rothyr liked to be more charming, more suave when it came to women, but here miss Amora came, and just tugged him along on a leash like a puppy.

“I come to seek a wife, actually,” he said, feeling a flush come to his cheeks, “and perhaps learn more about life, and the Diamonds while I am here.” he said. They had ridden out of camp by that point. It was later in the evening, and most of the people of the camps had gone to bed, so they were not seen. They enjoyed their privacy. They rode amongst the grasses, under the stars and gods above, just two Drykas on the plains.

“You don't say? A charming lad like you has no wife?” she said, with a small laugh, “And why is that, I wonder.”

“Like most Drykasmen, I spent most of my time trying not to die on the plains,” Rothyr said, “not a lot of time for courtship with near-constant hunts. I find myself attending more funerals than weddings.”

“Well, that's too bad,” she said, “Maybe you will find one soon, then.”

“I believe I may be looking at her,” Rothyr said, with a smile, “If you'll have me, miss Everstride.”

She laughed, a genuine lovely laugh, “If you can catch me, Rothyr!”

by **Rothyr Windbourne** on August 24th, 2012, 6:14 pm

She started off, kicking her mount into a gallop then a sprint. Rothyr started after her, matching pace with her. It was well dark by now, but the stars, and the moon shone bright that night. Visibility was difficult, but not impossible. He could see her, and that's what was important. They had ridden for at least a mile, and found themselves in some rolling hills. Before long, they were atop one, and could see the fires of the camp beyond. It was a lovely sight, the fires shone like stars, and reflected off the cloth pavlilions and tents. It was like the sun reflecting off shards of broken glass, contrasting against the stars above. She reached the hill ahead of him, and quickly dismounted her steed. Rothyr came up close behind, and leaped from the saddle after her. She started to run, but he was quicker. They laughed as he chased her, and tripped, falling on top of her. They lay there, in the grass for a moment. They looked into each other's eyes, as the gentle breeze made the grass wave in the eternal song of the web and the world. That night, they became one. She agreed to be his wife, and the Goldsaddle line would continue on with the shared life-force of Amora Everstride, who would be a mother to his children, as he would be a father to them.

The rest of the season went by quickly, it seemed. He continued to train during the day, with his friends in the Splintersong pavilion and the others. He spent evenings with Amora, and grew to know her family, and they accepted him as her mate. Life was good, though the others still heckled him when they could, he knew the Splintersongs and the Everstrides had his back. Such was the same at the Emerald clans, you can't be friends with everyone.

But now the time had come, he was to return to his home clan, and Amora would be joining him. They would build a pavilion together, and continue on the Goldsaddle family. He was excited and scared at the same time to start his own family, but his father came and accepted her as his mate, and together with the other Goldsaddles who came with, many of them his cousins since he had no living siblings, rode back for the Emerald clans.

He said goodbye to his friends Sudir and the Splintersongs, pledging to return soon to visit. Amora said farewell to her family, and pledged the same. “Come back anytime, you're always welcome,” was a phrase used often by all parties. This was not farewell for good, this was goodbye for now. After all, we're not going far.

And so, the Goldsaddles and Rothyr's new family started off for the camps of the Emerald clan. They had ridden half a day, and found it to be evening, having gotten a late start from the Diamond clan camp. They set up a few small tents for the lot of them. The party was Rothyr, Amora, Elder Goldsaddle, and all four of his cousins, fellow riders of the Emerald clan. Elder Goldsaddle was the Ankal of the Goldsaddle pavilion, all other elders had since perished a decade earlier, by the usual things that kill Drykasfolk. They talked that night, asking questions of the Diamond Drykas, how Rothyr and Amora met, and Rothyr asked questions of the Emerald clans and how they fared in his absence. The night was light and jovial, and all were joyous to be together again. They slept deeply that night. Content and comfortable under the Cyphrus skies, in the tall grasses of the plains. Life was good, and getting better, but all things in life are temporary. Particularly, happiness.

by **Rothyr Windbourne** on August 24th, 2012, 6:14 pm

It was just before dawn, the morning twilight crept across the plains as Rothyr's cousins awoke, as they normally do, to begin preparing a light meal for the pavilion, and cleaning up around the campsite, preparing to move again. Everything appeared to be normal, just another day traveling on the plains. None felt that tingling sensation of being watched. None suspected any danger, and that is exactly what gets a plainsman killed. Rothyr's cousin Bledda, stumbled out of the tent after the other three cousins, Olli, Guen, and Tylo, and strode to the edge of the camp to relieve himself. He uncinched his belt, and exhaled deeply as the waters splashed the ground. His breath made fog on the cool air as he closed his eyes.

“Bledda,” Olli, the shortest one of the four, called to him, “Hurry up, and help me clean the crockery. I'm ready to be back at camp, already. Elder Goldsaddle will be awake soon, you oaf.”

Bledda didn't respond. He tightened up visibly, and all saw it. “Bledda?” Olli said, again, “You ok?”

Bledda did not respond. He fell backwards, pants still undone, with three arrows in his chest. The others did not know how to respond, their bows were on their horses, which, come to think of it... Where had the horses gone?

“Attack, attack!” Tylo called, tall and skinny, “We're under attack!” They all grabbed weapons, mostly knives, and axes, and throwing spears. Olli held a frying pan that he had been about to clean, when an arrow came flying for him. He jumped, startled by the swift death approaching, and hid behind the frying pan. The arrow bounced off the pan, and veered off course into one of the tents. Elder Goldsaddle came out of the camp carrying his sword, a sharp piece of iron with an antler as a handle, “What's going on, lads?!” He yelled, dodging an arrow turning his body sideways.

“Someone's shooting at us!” He said, and then the riders came.

by **Rothyr Windbourne** on August 24th, 2012, 6:15 pm

It was Amora's scream that woke Rothyr. She had woken up, hearing the commotion outside, and gone outside to see what was going on. What she found was a dead Bledda, a dead Guen, and Olli, Tylo, and Elder Goldsaddle fighting for their lives. Some riderless horses wander about the outskirts of camp, and two dead, unrecognized riders lay face down in puddles of their own blood. Tylo tackled a rider, driving him down to the ground with his knife at his neck. There was no finesse here, no tactics, just a struggle for survival. He used his height to take the man off balance, and forced him down, using the momentum to drive his blade across his throat, bleeding him out on the grass. A rider rode up, ready to skewer Tylo to the ground with his spear, but found Olli's ax buried in his gut. He pulled the man from the saddle, and stomped on him till he quit moving. He looked up, and saw the next enemy only too late, to find an archer across camp, shaven head save for a tuft atop his head he kept in a bun, sending an arrow straight through his throat. Olli gripped the arrow, dropping his ax, and tried in desperation to dislodge it, but found he only grew weaker with each passing second. His lungs filled with blood where the arrow severed his windpipe, and he fell to the earth, dead.

The archer next took Tylo, as he rose from the man he had knifed. He sent an arrow through his shoulder, then his other shoulder, his knee, driving him to kneel, and the last one through his heart. He took him down piece by piece, not for lack of marksmanship, but out of cold cruelty. This man was the leader, Amora knew, because she was the reason he was here. He was her ex-husband.

Rothyr jumped out of bed, throwing on a shirt to stave off the cold of winter's ending, but leaving his armor, strapping on his knife, and his axe. His bow, like the others, was on his horse. He did not know where Sungold was, certainly not where he left her. He emerged from the camp to see his father and cousins' tent aflame, dead bodies strewn all about the camp. Amora had been captured, and was held at knife-point by the shaven-head archer. His father was still fighting. Three men were trying to make an opening on him, striking with axe and jabbing with javelins, he parried every strike. One swung with an ax, and tried running him through with a knife, but Elder Goldsaddle side-stepped the ax, and swung down on the knife, breaking the blade and the man's hand with the flat of his sword. Another struck, catching the back of his knee, bringing down the old warrior, who returned the strike and split the man's neck, half-severing the man's head and sending a torrent of blood to heaven. Elder Goldsaddle disappeared, then, as more warriors rushed him, and he disappeared under a flurry of swinging axes, and knives, only a pool of blood came from the mess of men, oozing out between their boots as they left nothing recognizable of Elder Goldsaddle. A legend died that day, one who would be missed.

A warrior came for Rothyr, armed with a spear, rushing him to run him through the gut with the point. Rothyr sidestepped and parried, burying his knife in the man's chest, going between the ribs to puncture the heart. A rider came for him next, seeking to take his head off with a swing of his sword, but Rothyr took the dead man's spear, turned it around, and buried it in the man's guts, going up between the ribs and tearing through the armor he wore. Rothyr reclaimed his knife, and tackled the next warrior who came for him. He hooked his knife behind his knee, and severed the tendons there, making the man scream in pain, before he hacked him to death with his ax.

More warriors came, but the shaven-head archer bid them stop. The plains were a dangerous place, all knew this, and losing more men would be disastrous. Nobody wants to be alone out there.

by **Rothyr Windbourne** on August 24th, 2012, 6:16 pm

“Well, Rothyr the Windbourne,” the man said, “Are you always so fond of taking men's wives? Or are you just an unlucky fool?”

Rothyr, astounded, replied, “What are you talking about, fiend? I take a wife who has no other husband, and you kill my clansmen over things you don't rightly know! What are you talking about, bastard?!”

Rothyr raised his hand to wipe blood that had sprayed onto his face, the fatigue of the recent killing starting to reach him. His muscles grew tense, and he took deep breaths. His heart pumped fury and blood into his being. He didn't care any longer, he wanted the warriors to come. He would kill all of them that day, and claim his wife. He was the last Goldsaddle, now. Everyone else died in the grass that day. This bastard, this archer killed them. And now, he would die in turn. All he needed was to fight him, or if the Goldsaddles' time had simply come to an end, he would return to the web, find life again as a Glassbeak, kill him, eat him, and turn him into what he really was: a shitstain on the plains.

“Your 'wife,' Amora Everstride, is my wife. She was mine, before she was yours, and you came and took her from me. So now, friend Rothyr," he said with disgust, “I shall take her from you!”

“Rothyr, run!” was the last thing Amora ever said to Rothyr, before the Shaven-head archer drug his knife across her neck. There was fury and insanity in the man's eyes, a sick demented pleasure while he sprayed the life-blood of the woman Rothyr loved across the plains that day. The man was a mad dog, driven crazy by lost love. Lust. Depravity. He screamed like a banshee, and laughed a laugh that could send chills down the most wicked spines. Mankind has always been capable of the most evil of deeds. Always, driven by faith, or love, those things that should inspire men to be courageous and good, also drive them to the most horrific deeds. The archer loved the Everstride, but he could not have her. So, he ripped her from the world, and back into the web. He did it for a love he could never have, that he had felt and lost, yet wanted to feel again. There was indeed a fury and insanity in the man's eyes. But Rothyr also saw sorrow, and depression, chaos and loneliness that haunt every villain. His laughing became sobbing, as he held Rothyr's wife in his arms, dead now, dripping with blood. His frantic sobbing, became rage, and he screamed for Rothyr's blood.

“You did this!” he screamed at me, so hard the veins in his neck and head bulged with hate, “You did this to my love! I'll kill you!”

by **Rothyr Windbourne** on August 24th, 2012, 6:16 pm

The archer dropped her body in the dust, and raced for Rothyr, ready to send him into the web with her. Rothyr was strong. He was tall, and he knew how to fight. However, few can stand against such reckless hate, and the archer's men, of which about six stood in camp, there still may be some in the grass. Rothyr weighed his options. The evil in this man's soul was a torment from hell itself, a torture from whatever deeds he may have committed that drove Amora from him, aside from the slaughter of the Goldsaddle pavilion.

Rothyr was scared. He was looking directly into the face of chaos and insanity, and the face looked back at him, wanting to kill him. There was no way Rothyr would be able to stop him, the evil took the archer. He wouldn't stop coming until his body could not go on any longer, and he still had warriors around. Rothyr ran for the nearest horse, who would become Windlass, and leaped on her back, riding off as swift as the wind could carry him.

The archer ran after him, snatching up his bow, and arrows. He screamed hate for the heavens as he sent arrow after arrow towards Rothyr, not taking time to aim but just shooting for the sake of his fury. An arrow struck Rothyr's saddle, but that is the closest any of the shots got. Before long, the archer's arrows were spent, and he threw the bow on the ground, weeping again. He crawled back to the body of Amora, the woman who had been his wife, but divorced him, and held her prone bloody form in his arms. He became dead to the world that day, and would do nothing but weep. His men left him there, seeing their leader's mind had snapped, they went elsewhere. No one ever saw any of them again. Nor were the bodies of the attackers or the Goldsaddle dead ever found, any who traced the trail they had taken to find them just found broken bones scattered by wildlife. The slaughter of the Goldsaddle pavilion on the plains was just another blood-soaked misfortune on the grasslands of Cyphrus. Another sad tale none would hear.

Rothyr rode north. He rode north, and he didn't stop. He rode, and he rode, till Windlass dripped with white sweat. He rode till his arse was sore, which is saying something for a Drykas. He rode till he found the coast, then he tied a branch to his saddle to cover his tracks, and rode along the sandy coast all the way to Syliras. It took all the season of Spring, and half the summer season to reach there, finally taking to the road again as the beaches turned more rocky, and trees became more plentiful. Only there before the walls of Syliras did he finally stop, and mourn the loss of his love and his family. He wept before the cold stone walls of the castle-city, mourning what he had lost.

“Rothyr, Run!” she had said to him before she returned to the web. He had run all the way to Syliras. Now, he must make a new life here. He took the memory of Amora Everstride deep into his heart, and said a prayer for his lost family, and for good fortune to find him here in the stone walls of Syliras.

by **Jackalope** on September 30th, 2012, 2:13 pm

Results!

Rothyr :

Sad thread, entertaining, but sad. One thing, make sure you adjust the time stamp. It can't be winter of 512 yet!